


The Adventure of the Turquoise Dragon

by Never laugh at a live Sherlock (smaugholmeswatson)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst and Feels, Blood and Torture, Crossover, Dragons, Heart of Glass, Hidden Depths, Hurt John Watson, I have never done Supernatural fan-fiction before, M/M, Mystery, Original Dragons - Freeform, POV Multiple, Scenes of torture, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Tortured Sherlock Holmes, Wyverns, please don't hate me too much if it's bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaugholmeswatson/pseuds/Never%20laugh%20at%20a%20live%20Sherlock
Summary: When Sherlock and John receive a small glass dragon statue through the post neither of them could have imagined the chaos that was to follow in its wake. Unwillingly the two of them are drawn into an ancient war between the dragons and the wyverns and are forced to choose sides as their lives are put into mortal danger. If that wasn't bad enough John is still at odds with Sherlock after the tragic death of his wife at the London Aquarium. Somehow he will have to put his feelings aside if any of them stand a hope of getting through this alive.Up against one of the most deadly wyverns in the world John and Sherlock have no choice but to call in re-enforcements. Enter the Winchester Brothers, Castiel and the rather dubious help of Crowley. What on earth could go wrong?Dragons, sacrifice and some tender moments- I hope you enjoy reading the story. :)





	1. Somewhere in America

The mission was supposed to be an easy one, which obviously meant it ended up failing entirely. Somehow, god only knows how, the dragon knew they were coming and by the time they broke down the door of the house it was long gone. Naturally Archarion was displeased at this development and in his rage he slaughtered three of the demons assigned to help him catch the dragon. The remaining demon couldn't condemn the wyvern for his actions, he knew all too well just how infuriating losing could be. Also when you were this close to vistory failure wasn't part of your list of options of how you wanted to procede. The deaths were not enough however to calm Archarion's anger. Snarling his displeasure he snapped open his leathery wings and leapt into the air. 

At first, somehow, nobody noticed the immense scaly creature rising above the rooftops of the town. The demon could only assume it was because the humans were all too engrossed in their own little lives to notice what was going on around them. In his experience he had found them to be a race blind to the mysteries that they shared the world with. They did start to pay attention however when Archarion spat out a poisoness green acid that spattered on the building and immediatly began to dissolved the brickwork with a bubbling hiss. Several minutes of absolute silence followed, every human in the vicinity staring up with frozen fascination. Then, without warning, the house collapsed in a roar of cascading rubble, smashing into the street below and crushing several cars in the process. Archarion hovered above the wreckage and regarded his handiwork with pride. All over the neighbourhood people finally began to scream. Meanwhile down below at street level the last demon brushed dust from the sleeves of his black coat and shook his head. 

"Really? Was that entirely necessary?" He asked, his clipped voice carrying easily. Despite the monster hovering above him he didn't seem to be all that afraid, though it was debatable whether that was done to bravery or stupidity. In fact he almost seemed to be delibratly taunting Archarion. "But then I would expect nothing different from a wyvern." He said, his expression distainful. 

Tucking his wings against his back Archarion came crashing back down to earth, his claws tearing massive craters into the road just inches away from the demon. To give him credit though he didn't even flinch, which annoyed Archarion no end. "You said she would be here Crowley and yet once again we seem to be one step behind her." Archarion hissed and snapped in a gravelly voice distorted by a mouth filled with deadly looking fangs, two of which were so long they jutted past his chin and gave the look of a sabre tooth tiger. "What excuse are you going to come up with this time? The dragon can't always be ahead of us after all." 

The demon, Crowley, still seemed unconcerned by everything and lazily waved a hand in response to Archarion's question. "When have I ever made excuses Archie? You know that isn#t in my nature." He said with a sly grin, his eyes briefly turning a gleaming red. "Besides you're the one who keeps underestimating the dragons. They're not half as stupid as you seem to think they are." He turned his back on the wyvern in favour of inspecting the ruins of the house and allowed himself a small smile when he heard Archarion let out a snarl of displeasure. It was always so enjoyable winding the wyvern up- probably due in part to the fact it was so easy. "You know you could have set up a trap and waited for her to return." He shook his head again. "But then you're kind are not known for being patient." 

Archarion growled a warning and took a single earth shaking step forward, bristling at the audacity of the demon for calling him Archie. It was against every part of wyvern culture to give one of his kind a nickname. "Careful demon. Just because we're working together doesn't mean I won't kill you the first chance I get." The wyvern's bulbous black eyes glared at Crowley's back, searching for any sign of nervous tension in the demon's shoulders. Of course there was nothing. Archarion bared his teeth. Demons were the most arrogant creatures he had ever met and he wasn't even counting the angels in that thought either! If he was being honest he wasn't a big fan of either of them but at least the demon's wants were compatible with his own. It meant that, at least for now, they were alies. Archarion lashed his tail, sending bricks flying in all directions, and managed to resist the urge to tear out Crowley's throat. For now he needed the demon if he wanted to track down the dragon. Taking a deep breath he made a concerted effort to get his rage under control. "So now we've lost her, what do you propose we do now?" He demanded. 

Crowlet was silent while he mused over the question. So far he didn't think he'd done a bad job at keeping Archarion off the scent but he could that the wyvern was beginning to grow suspicious of his intentions. It wasn't a serious threat just yet but maybe it would be a good idea to distance himself from this for a while. Give up dragon hunting in favour for less hazardous past-times. Hmmm and he had just the thing in mind. He knew the Winchester Brother's were in England doing their own investigation and couldn't help but think it would be fun to go and annoy them for a while. Besides he and the Winchester's were on good terms at the moment. They probably wouldn't mind if he simply turned up... or at least that was what Crowley hoped anyway. Before he made a final desicion he glanced up at Archarion, noting the anger still smoldering behind the black eyes. England it was."I think we should split up. We can cover more ground that way and in theory find the dragon quicker than if we worked together." He suggested, hoping the wyvern wouldn't decide this was a great time to be stubbon. 

Thankfully all Archarion did was let out a loud snort. "Very well, we will go with your suggestion demon." He said, snapping open his wings and stretching them to their full extent. The area around Crowley darkened noticebly and the demon took a step back, not wanting to be swept off his feet when the wyvern took to the air. "I need to report to the other Generals as it is so I may have welll do that before I continue my search for the dragon. In the meantime I expect you to try and pick up a trace of where she might have gone. I refuse to allow her to slip away again." With that final, rather terse sentence Archarion rose steadily into the air, the downdraft from his wings sending rubbish skittering in all directions. 

Shielding his eyes from the flying dust Crowley waited for Archarion to become little more than a black speck of the horizon before he made his move, turning on his heel and hurrying off down the street. It wouldn't take Archarion long to make his report and Crowley wanted to be well on his way to England by the time the wyvern returned to the area. He let out a sigh. He didn't like being so helpless. Right now there was nothing he could do to help Sapphirius. He could only hope the dragon has an ace up her sleeve, something that would protect her from the wyvern's for a little bit longer. It would after all be incredibly tragic if those bastards managed to kill one of the few remaining dragon queen's. Crowley paused for a moment and glanced back over his shoulder at the ruins of the house. It was incredible she had gotten away yet again and he couldn't help but wonder where on earth she could have run to this time. As far as he knew the wyvern's were rapidly closing in on her and there couldn't be many more safe places for her to go to. Well wherever she was Crowley hoped it would be a while before the wyvern found her. 

Crowley sighed again and turned his back on the destruction, walking off down the street with a heavy tread and a even heavier heart. He hadn't even wanted to help Archarion in the first place but when it came down to a choice of hunting dragons with him or having his spine removed Crowley's self preservation had cut in. Still, that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. Please, by every saint, angel and demon, let Sapphirius be safe... 

**Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean**

Personally Sapphirius could think of better ways to travel. Cramped, hot and incredibly bumpy it had little to recommend it- except the fact it was almost undetectable to the wyvern's because their senses could never make head nor tail of modern technology. It was something for which she was incredibly grateful at that moment in time. Also what wyvern would even contemplate sending themselves through the post?! Not that it would have been possible even if they wanted to. One of the advantages of being a dragon was their handy ability to transform into a smaller, more transportable form. Sapphirius was convinced she had hit upon one of the few wyvern proof modes of transport. Feeling more than just a little bit smug she closed her eyes and settled down for the long journey ahead of her. 

Oblivious to its rather unconventional passenger the Boeing 747 continued to power its way across the sky, mapping out a path from America to the United Kingdom. Inside its vast luggage compartment Sapphirius drifted into a deep sleep inside the small and unassuming looking box covered with brown paper. If there was anything even remotely interesting about the parcel it was what was written on the address label:  
  
Sherlock Holmes/John Watson  
221B Baker Street  
London  
England 

Neither reciepient had any idea what was headed their way. 


	2. The mysterious parcel- John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this around the time of 'The Six Thatchers' and 'The Lying Detective' so the story will reference events from both of those episodes.

Not even Sherlock had been able to work out what was in the neatly wrapped parcel currently sitting on the mantlepiece. There had been a number of guesses, gradually growing wilder and more elaborate the longer the game continued, but in the end nobody was even a little bit close. The closest guess of 'something decorative' had come from Mycroft who I am still annoyed at for dragging me to Baker Street. He seems to have taken it as a personal affront that Sherlock and I still aren't talking. From the moment I'd walked through the front door my first impressions of my former best friend had not been all that positive. In the month since I last saw him Sherlock has grown a stubbly beard and developed a lost, almost haunted expression in his blue eyes. Up until that moment I hadn't realised how much breaking his vow affected him. Apparently, just as I have been doing, Sherlock has been grieving for Mary (despite the fact her death was basically his fault). 

While everyone present focuses on Sherlock's hands, eager to find out just what exactly is in the mysterious parcel he received this morning, I instead watch his face and try to deciepher the emotions I see flashing across it. Up until now uncertainty, nervousness and a deep, bone aching sorrow are not emotions I would have even dreamed of associating with Sherlock. He had always seemed so in control, so detached from such petty things as emotions. Apparently, if what I am seeing is to be believed, he is more human than he ever let on to any of us. At the same time I notice the emotions I realise with a horrible jolt that something fundemental, something special has broken and I fear in that moment whether we'll ever be able to repair our friendship. I feel a wave of sadness at the thought. Crazy as it might be since he is mostly responsible for what happened at The London Aquarium I am actually missing Sherlock Holmes and the insane, dangerous, yet thrilling life the two of us had the privilege of sharing. Obviously it goes without saying I would never admit this to anyone. Noticing the searching look Mycroft is shooting my way I take the thoughts and forcibly shove them into a dark corner of a mind before I turn my attention to what everybody else is so fascinated by. 

To my suprise I find myself looking at a small dragon statue delicatly carved out of turquoise coloured glass, brown paper strewn about it like a tiny sea surrounding an island. The statue is beautiful and incredibly detailed with each individual scale carefully and clearly defined. There even appears to be a faint twinkle in the blank glass eyes. It is an incredible piece of work to suddenly receive out of the blue on a Tuesday morning. I rack my brains trying to think of a case we have solved that it might relate to but none immediatly spring to mind. It must have been expensive to buy and costly to send through the post... so who exactly could have sent it? With a frown Greg sifts through the paper in search of something. 

"If you're looking for an address you're your time." Sherlock tells him, his blue eyes fixed upon the dragon as though he is mesmerised by it. "I would have spotted something by now if there was anything to find." 

Well used to the detective predicting what his next move would be and what he was thinking Greg stops looking and sits back with a exasperated sounding sigh. "Well someone must have sent it to you, Sherlock. Things like this don't just magically appear on people's doorsteps. It has to have come from somewhere." He says as he carefully inspects the statue. At that moment sunlight streams through the high windows of the living room and shines directly onto the dragon, causing it to gleam with a deep blue glow that almost makes the statue feel alive. Then it fades away and I shake my head at myself for having such a ridiculous thought. Dragons don't actually exist and even if they did they certainly wouldn't be in such a breakable form as glass. Greg meanwhile tries again to engage Sherlock in conversation. "You must have some idea who could have sent it to you... perhaps it could be a former client? Does anyone owe you payment, Sherlock?" 

When Sherlock glances up from the dragon there is a hard expression in his eyes. "I think you should leave the deductions to me. You have always fallen woefully short in that department." He says in a voice that is as hard and cold as a shard of ice. There is a collective intake of breath from everybody in the room, all of them blown away by Sherlock's rudeness. I mean, yeah he can be arrogant and cold at times but if you're a friend, if he trusts you then there is always a degree of warmth in his voice. That statement though was spoken as though he meant it. 

From where he is sitting on the other side of the room Mycroft clears his throat. "Now, now Brother Mine, there's no need to be quite so cruel. Greg is only trying to do his job." Not just content with alienating me Sherlock is apparently trying to drive away everybody else as well. Well, why not let him- it isn't my problem any more after all. If I look closely (and these days I really try not to) I can see the sadness in Mycroft's eyes as he watches his younger brother fall apart but it is quickly hidden and transformed into a more neutral expression. Similiar to Sherlock Mycroft is not one for showing off his feelings to others. 

Sherlock does not reply and continues to gaze as if transfixed at the dragon statue. His eyebrows are drawn together in a frown and it is obvious he is deep in thought about something. After a few moments of absolute silence Greg lets out a heavy sigh, stands up from his chair and makes his way over to the door, despite Molly's protests that he should stay. "No, I should be going. There's a mountain of paperwork waiting for me back at Scotland Yard." He explains in a quiet voice, momentarily resting a hand on Mycroft's shoulder before he disappears down the stairs, the sound of his footsteps gradually getting further away until they vanish completly. 

After Greg's departure our small break quickly breaks up, with each person leaving in order to get on with their own individual lives. Mrs Hudson will go back to whatever it is she does everyday, Molly will return to her day job at St Bartholemew's Hospital and Mycroft will go back to the Houses of Parliment. It's quite sad really how much our lives have diverged over the years. Once upon a time we would have been a happy group, laughing and chatting about nothing in particular. But after certain events; Sherlock faking his own death and the mess at the Aquarium, something has broken between all of us and I don't know if we will ever be able to get it back. As each person passes me I give them an apologetic smile- though that won't really do anything to excuse Sherlock's behaviour towards Greg. He may be arrogant but I've never known him to be so cold before. 

When they are gone the flat goes back once more to an silent, empty state that still sends a shiver down my spine. On reflect I glance over my shoulder to make a quip to Mary before remembering with a horrible jolt she will never say another word to anybody. Tears prick my eyes and I swallow hard. I keep doing this, briefly forgetting what happened and honestly thinking she is still alive. Every time I realise the truth it is like someone has punched me in the chest and torn out my heart all over again. With a sigh I lean back in my chair and force myself to concentrate on something else. And since the only person left in the room is Sherlock he will have to do. 

With concern I notice a glazed quality to his eyes. Over the past couple of weeks I have seen it there more and more and I can not help but wonder what it could mean. He certainly isn't looking at the dragon, instead I think his thoughts are more likely focused inwards on whatever thoughts are currently spinning around his mind. He is so consumed by his thoughts that he doesn't even glance up when I stand and walk over to him, gazing intently into his eyes. I rapidly grow bored of this and reach out to lightly poke him on the arm. This at least gets a reaction. Sherlock starts, his blue eyes blinking a few times before they finally settle on my face. Then he simply goes back to staring at the dragon. I frown, wondering what could have absorbed him so. "Sherlock, are you alright?" I ask cautiously, half expecting to get snapped at. 

Instead he lets out a sigh and hangs his head. "I'm fine John, just a little tired. I have work I need to be getting on with." He answers with a not at all convincing shake in his voice. Reaching out he ever so carefully picks the dragon up and turns it over in his hands a few times. "You know I think I've seen work similiar to this before in a tiny shop in Camden." I know when he is changing the subject but on this occasion I decide to let it pass. Putting the Dragon back down he begins pulling on his coat. "Why don't we go and take a look?" He asks, sounding so hopeful that I feel guilty about letting him down. His face falls when I shake my head. 

At least this time I don't have to make up an excuse, I actually have a real reason for not being able to go. "Sorry, I've already arranged to meet someone." I say, also shrugging on my coat. The two of us exit the flat together, Sherlock pausing long enough to lock the door behind us, and walk down the stairs in silence. Outside on the street both of us pause for a moment. "I'll catch up with you later if you want. You can tell me what you found." 

Sherlock nods in answer before shoving his hands in his pockets and marching off down the street. I watch him go, waiting until he's out of sight. I don't know if life will ever be able to go back to what it was... I shake my head and push the thoughts to one side for now. At the moment I have other things I need to focus on, namely getting to the pub in time to meet the new friends I made a few days ago. If I hurry I should just about make it in time. 


	3. No way out

I do not know what these men want. Every day they ask me the same questions but I am still no closer to being able to answer because what they are asking me is simply impossible. No matter what they seem to believe dragons do not exist outside of stories. Not that these men seem to care about that particular fact. Every time I try to make them see sense they cut off the little food and water they were giving me until I am doubled over from the gnawing pain in my stomach- a pain dulled only by the new scars covering my body. Everyday in this place is the same, a constant and never ending routine of questions and pain as the men stubbonly refuse to listen to what I am telling them. I simply am unable to give them the answer they are so obviously hoping for. Right now we are on the torture part of the daily routine, one of the men having entered the room five minutes ago with the usual objects they enjoy using to cause pain. All thoughts are driven from my head, replaced by a white blankness, as a jolt of sharp pain slashes down my back and is quickly followed by something hot and wet trickling down the backs of my legs. Caught off guard slightly and unprepared a cry escapes me, echoing loudly in the tiny space of the bare concrete room. From behind me there comes a low laugh and I flinch before I can stop myself, cursing myself afterwards for showing any sign of weakness. I do not want these men to know how close I am to breaking, Alarming as it might sound I am growing tired of having to fight so hard to stop my sanity from slipping away. 

Footsteps sound behind me and the man currently in the room stalks into view. As usual there is a glint of pleasure in his green eyes as he regards my bleeding, broken body with a critical eye. A shudder runs through me despite the ripple of pain coursing down my back in response to the movement. I suck in a sharp breath and hang my head, staring without really seeing at the old blood stains caked to the floor and turning a light brown in colour. There are so many of them and they are now the only way I am able to tell that any time has actually passed. Not that I have any idea how long I have actually been here. It could be months or years for all I know. Which is an incredibly depressing thought if you think about it too deeply. Even now I am still unable to really believe John hung up on me and basically left me to my fate. Surely he must at least have tried to find me and put things right... Surely there is no way he would leave me to suffer in a place like this. 

My tormenter kneels in front of me and grips my chin tightly with long, curving claws, forcing my head up so he can look me squarly in the eye. "Come now Mr Holmes, this can all end if you only tell me what I want to know." He says in a deep voice that carries a sinuous, hissing undertone to it. I knew from the start (especially considering the presence of Archarion) that there was something not entirely human about my tormentors. Once again I feel fear freezing my veins and squeeze my eyes tightly shut in an attempt to forcibly push it away. I refuse to show any such thing to these men. I also, at the same time, try desperatly not to notice that the claws still dangling down by the man's side are slick with blood- my blood. My stomach roils and I find myself letting out a gasping breath. Great, so much for keeping my emotions in check. 

Though it is agony to do so I shake my head, tasting blood when the movement splits open several of the healing scabs on my upper lip. "I don't know what you want. There's no such thing as dragons." I croak, my voice breaking and fading away to nothing. 

With a sigh my tormentor sits back on his heels with a dis-satisfied expression on his face and watches me intently for a moment. "I'm disappointed in you, Mr Holmes. You know exactly what I'm talking about and I don't understand why you are so unwilling to co-operate. Dragons do exist and you're currently harbouring one in your flat. Archarion might have to go and pay a visit and goodness knows what will happen to John if he's forced to do that." He winks and for a moment a brief flicker of bright orange passes across his eyes. 

Despite everything that has happened between us (the death of Mary being by far the worst) I still feel a jolt of terror when he mentions John's name. Even now, even though he might possibly have left me to die, I still am unable to let anything happen to him- I am still unable to break my vow to protect him no matter what. Silently swearing at myself for my sentimentality I hang my head and brace myself for the pain I know is coming. Apparently my tormentor is surprised by my silence because for a long moment he doesn't say anything and continues to simply stare at me. Then he composes himself and blows out a low breath. "This little game is growing tiresome, Mr Holmes." He says, his expression unreadable as he stands and lightly runs a claw-tip down the side of my neck. A shiver runs through me in response. "It must be serious if you won't even give up John Watson. I know how much you care about him." He passes out of my line of sight, his voice becoming slightly muffled. "You have no-one to blame for this but yourself." 

I tense, knowing that at any moment the pain will come but I am still woefully unprepared when the blow does eventually fall. There is nothing I can do to prevent the scream that escapes me as another strip of skin is torn from my back. Tears stream down my face and to my horror I find myself sobbing, begging for my tormentor to stop. In answer he bursts out laughing, obviously finding my torment highly entertaining. Gritting my teeth I try to get my emotions back under control but it is much too late to close the floodgate that my pleading and tears have opened. Though I still can not still them exactly what they want I will literally tell them anything if it will mean an end to this pain. My tormentor must be able to read my thoughts somehow because he carries on laughing, even as he beings his claws slashing down again and again. All I have left to hope for is that somebody will notice I am missing and will come looking for me. Sure John and I haven't been on the best of terms I can not believe he would leave me in a place like this if there was anything he could do about it. Surely even now there must be people searching for me. A wave of weakness washes over me and I find my eyes closing against my will, but I don't do anything to fight it. After everything that has happened I am grateful to let the darkness in, even if all it does is push away the real world for a few precious hours. 


End file.
